The Empire's End
by Dr FrankEinstein
Summary: Ten years after the end of the Oblivion Crisis, two dark elves try to eke out a living in exile following the destruction of Morrowind. However, their lives are altered when the Daedric Princes begin to manifest themselves in Tamriel once more, drawing them into a series of events that will change the continent forever.


Bravil wasn't nice this time of year. It was damp, wet, and diseased, and the heavy air soaked the clothes to the skin. It rained most months of the year, which flowed into the reeking Larsius river that passed right through the middle and served as both the city's water source and only sewage system. The townspeople didn't even notice the smell anymore. Rotten houses were piled on top of each other in stories of three or four, connected by hazardous walkways built so the residents could avoid the sludgy ground, where only the poorest walked. Each looked ready to topple at any moment, and no-one would help if they did; Count Regulus Terentius, the governor of the city and the swampy county around it, spent all of his money on his castle and ridiculously expensive self-portraits and deliberately distanced himself from his disgusting and malnourished subjects. Of course, officially he was King Regulus now, since Bravil had formally declared independence by his order. But so far the Empire had taken little notice of his claim. Most people thought he was just feeding his ever – growing ego - which his sickly people were used to.

The city had suffered even more since the Red Year, five years ago. This was because many dark elf (or Dunmer in their language) refugees had started squatting in the city. Most people saw them as a nuisance: they didn't work, or pay taxes, or do anything useful. Instead of absorbing themselves into society as the king had expected they'd remained fiercely separate. Instead of mingling, they effectively claimed a corner of the city for their own and thus street brawls between the Dunmer and the resident Argonians – who were attracted to the city because its swampy surroundings were very much like home - were commonplace, and the poor mannish races, who had lived there the longest, were caught in the middle. These two races harboured a bitter and all-consuming hatred of each other that was only understandable after poring through thousands of years of history; but in short, it began with slavery. The Argonians had been abused by the dark elves for generations. The dark elves used to invade the swamplands that were the lizards' natural homes, hunt them and take them away back to Morrowind. Children and women were the highest in demand. The men were often just killed. House Telvanni, the wizard family, was the worst. They paraded the lizardmen in cages at their fairs and carnivals and sold them to the highest bidder to be treated like property, and the Empire largely turned a blind eye to it. So when the Red Year occurred and Morrowind burned in the aftermath of the eruption of Red Mountain the Argonians took their opportunity, seceding from the Empire and invading their crippled enemies. They butchered countless thousands in the name of their vengeance and cut a swathe of destruction throughout the south and north-east of Morrowind. House Telvanni took the brunt of the Argonian's brutal revenge. The house was all but destroyed, and it was only when the armies of House Redoran and Indoril united and intercepted the Argonian army on its way to Mournhold that the Argonians relented, but only after a devastating battle that took hundreds of lives on each side.

Now all of that hate came out in the alleys and sidestreets; blood flowed with the rain in the city of Bravil. The Argonians would kill the Dunmer in the name of vengeance. The Dunmer would fight like cornered lions to protect the broken shards of their culture.

A dark elf was heading back to the Dunmer side of the city after buying alchemy supplies from the bustling Bravilian market. It was always quite a chore, but today the crush of the crowd had been worse than usual and a glimpse of a large Argonian gang bothering a street vendor had been enough to make him miss the last shop on his journey to avoid a confrontation. Usually, if the odds weren't too biased and one of the others was with him, he wouldn't have thought twice before going after them, but today he was alone. So he had hurried back to the safe side. He was just inside dark elf territory and beginning to feel less tense when he heard the sound of a struggle. He went to investigate. He crept into the alleyway, where he saw a pair of Argonians and a young woman. The rain had soaked her blue dress sodden and it clung to her body revealingly: The lizardmen had obviously noticed and danced around her, laughing and hurling bawdy comments.

'Leave me alone!' she shouted, but the larger Argonian laughed softly.

'Why? We're just having some fun.' He feigned towards her and she leapt back fearfully. He cackled dryly.

'Are you wearing anything valuable, girl?' The smaller Argonian asked. 'Ooh. Luck, Xiameel. Something glinting hangs around her little neck.' He sneered as she shrunk away. She clutched a small golden pendant that shined like a stray diamond in the thick silt of the city.

The one called Xiameel leered and reached for it. 'Looks valuable. Where did you get it?'

'That's none of your business,' she said, which made Xiameel snap his teeth in exasperation. 'Leave me alone or I'll call for help!' She threatened desperately.

'Oh, you will?' The Argonian cocked his head.

'Yes. And don't think I'm afraid to do so!'

Xiameel looked amused. 'No, you won't. The guards don't like this part of town. They don't come here.'

'Please. Please let me go!' She wept. She wasn't an ugly girl. She had that light brown hair and clean skin that Bretons usually have. She obviously knew what was on the Argonians' minds. The dark elf had a pretty accurate guess too.

'Why should we? You're mine now. A slave, like my father.'

The elf stepped into view. 'You're on the wrong side of the city, lizard.' The elf said. He kept his tone steady, but there was no mistaking the threat behind it or behind the sheathed sword that his hand rested on.

'Is that right.' Xiameel said. His tail flicked.

'I'm afraid so.' The dark elf said.

'And just how are you going to move us, slaver?' The lizard hissed. The elf winced inwardly. He always hated being called that.

'I'm armed, lizard.' The elf patted his sword and smiled. The lizard brandished a rusty dagger.

'So am I – and I'll drive it right up into your gullet.' He snarled.

The elf grinned but the malice behind it was evident. 'We both know you'd be skewered on my blade before you got close enough.'

The lizard cocked his head again, and eventually spoke. 'Well, in that case, we'll be moving on.' The younger one tried to protest but Xiameel shot him a look and he went silent. Xiameel waved his dagger at the girl. 'But I'll be taking my catch with me.'

After hearing this the woman tried to run but the smaller Argonian grabbed her. She whimpered as he bent her arm but he hissed for quiet and she complied. Her big brown eyes pleaded with the elf.

'I can't allow that either. Our side, our property. Give her to me.' The elf said.

'She's mine – I found her!' The lizard retorted angrily.

'You know the rules. She's mine.' The elf said.

'Okay. You'll have to come and get her.'

The elf weighed up his opponents. The smaller one was fairly young by the look of him, short and stringy like he was just venturing into manhood. Xiameel was large and developed, muscular and half a head taller than himself. He assumed that this one was the carer. They both wore ragged tunics and dull brown breeches like feral street beggars and the only weapon they had between them was the rusty dagger, so the elf could outrange them easily with his sword if he had to.

'Then I'm taking her off you.' He said.

Xiameel came forward with his dagger poised. The elf watched it slowly.

'Oh really? Come on. Try it.' He snarled, showing every serrated tooth.

Xiameel lunged with the knife and the elf had just enough time to grab his wrist before the dagger plunged down into his eye. Xiameel grunted with the effort of pushing it down, but the elf was too strong. He pulled away.

The lizard smiled cuttingly. 'You're strong for an elf. Some history there?' He jumped forward and the elf caught the bladehand again inches before it ploughed into his chest. The lizard was too quick.

'Tell me about your father.' The elf said.

The lizard's eyes lit up dangerously. 'Don't try it, elf. I'll carve out your heart.'

The elf grinned. 'Was he taken by the Telvanni?' The lizard's shoulders slumped minutely and answered the elf's question. 'I bet he was beaten, you know. Beaten and abused – I saw it a lot on the plantations.'

'I'll kill you!'

The elf ignored him. 'I should know, really. I beat plenty myself. I'm a Telvanni.'

The lizard jumped forward with all of his frenzied strength but his anger had sapped his precision and speed. The dagger was now held loosely and as it came close the elf pushed it away with a strong hand and it clattered away across the cobbles. The lizard cursed and had just enough time to see the grey-skinned fist before it connected with his snout. He fell limply to the grimy cobbled ground.

The younger lizard released the girl and went to retrieve the dagger, but the dark elf was done playing games. He drew his sword and aimed it at the nape of the lizard's neck. It froze.

'I think you'd better go home, hatchling.' The elf said.

It scattered away into the murky alley.

The elf examined the Breton woman. She looked okay, considering, just a bit scuffed and bruised. He gave her a bemused smile and held his hand out but she just stared at him.

'What's your name, Miss?' He ventured.

'Claire.' She replied.

'Claire.' He smiled. 'Are you alright?'

'Yes. It's lucky you were around – I hate to think what they were going to do to me.' She allowed him to help her up and gifted him with a smile.

'I should take you home,' He replied. 'It'd be much safer for you. Especially wearing such a target.' She clutched her necklace again. 'It is very dear to you?' He asked.

'Yes.' Her eyes widened suddenly. 'You aren't going to take it, are you?'

'No. If I had wanted to, I would have by now.' He said.

'Good point. I'm sorry, what's your name? I should have asked sooner!' She explained and tried to sort out her dress but achieved nothing.

'Don't worry. I'm Baltis.' He said. She was quiet for a long while.

'My father always tells me never to trust a Dunmer. All they do is cause trouble.' She pursed her lips. 'But thankyou for saving me.'

'Don't mention it.' He replied.

They walked a long way – and, the elf noticed, directly into the rich quarter. Through more conversation with Claire he discovered that she was the daughter of a merchant who worked for the East Empire Company, a company that Baltis knew well. They had been the operators of many mines and Imperial settlements in Morrowind before the Red Year.

The smell of the river, which usually clung to Bravil's air like a parasite, was faded. They eventually came to a halt outside a cosy house.

'Thankyou again Baltis.' She said. She glanced around as if to check no one was watching and then pecked his cheek gently and disappeared inside. He watched the door with a bemused smile, only then realising how late it was, then started the long walk back.

Baltis closed the old door behind him and looked around bleakly at the hut where he had been living these last few months: Galen's Cornerclub. The establishment's name was peculiar in the city of Bravil because cornerclubs were a specifically dark elf thing, which was the reason Baltis had chosen this place above the others. It was a dark elf club, and so it was safe. The shelves were scattered with barrels of Shein and Matze and other types of dark elf food and drink, which was a comfort, but there the resemblance to a real cornerclub ended. The illusion was broken by shoddy and rotting wood, floors that groaned painfully when they were walked on, and smashed in glass windows. Though the company wasn't bad. He lived with two other dark elves and each had as different a life story from his own as was possible. The owner the the club was an elf named Galen. Not a bad guy, Baltis thought, though it had taken him some time to get accustomed to the man's love of money and nothing else. He ran a good place as far as they went, even if it was inside a rotting shell of a building. It was identical to every other Imperial building in Bravil, and they just seem to lack soul, Baltis thought, and cast his memory back to the majestic bonemold towers of the High Fane in Vivec. That was before the whole city had been destroyed. Those lanky towers probably lay in shattered chunks at the bottom of Scything Bay now, gathering barnacles and seaweed. His new lodgings were nowhere near as grandiose as the old barracks there. But there's no point in dwelling on it, he whispered to himself, and shook his head of such thoughts. The smell of burning nightshade reached his nose. So his other neighbor was busy making poison again. That never boded well because poison meant a new job was on it's way. Another way to risk his life for a few septims, he thought, and went to find out more.

He found Syl in the back room at his alchemy table, which was where he spent most of his time, brewing potions and poisons. He was deep in concentration by the looks of things: bent in close to a vial that contained a bubbling concoction that was no doubt the source of the smell. The wizard grunted absent-mindedly as Baltis came in.

'Don't interrupt; this is a very delicate procedure.' Syl said. He was a Telvanni, and they were fantastic wizards, but sometimes pride could get the better of them. Especially in Syl's case. He had held a lot of power in the house before it's collapse, so he was used to giving orders, but Baltis saw good in him buried beneath the anger, aloofness and ill-manners. 'Did you get the ingredients?' Syl asked.

'Most of them. I had to miss out Belathar's Botanics. The lizards were in the market.' Baltis explained.

'Ah.' Syl nodded slowly. 'But you got the troll fat? Just tip it in there.' He turned the knob on a bunsen burner and watched the bubbles, then calculated something and told Baltis to pour. The potion bubbled up to the lip of the bottle, paused, then settled. Syl put in the cork then turned to his friend and pushed the bottle toward him. He smiled with thin lips. 'Yours. But don't let it touch your skin. And don't use it on someone you want to kill quietly.'

'And what is this for?' Baltis asked, but he feared he already knew the answer.

'Galen has been following the lead of a new job, so I naturally assumed it would be needed.' He fussed with his instruments then packed them neatly away in the cupboard. 'In fact, he was summoned to the castle this afternoon.'

Baltis was instantly alert. 'What? Why - what does the king want with one of us?'

'I don't know. But it can't be good.' Syl said darkly. Baltis agreed. He remembered the last time the king had been involved in the affairs of the dark elves: a revolt about two months ago. Putting it simply, two dozen grey-skinned heads now adorned the gatehouse of his keep. Baltis was happy he hadn't been involved and had stayed at the cornerclub with the others instead. Though he was officially just a lodger, he helped out in the bar room sometimes to earn enough money between jobs to pay Galen's rent. It wasn't glamorous, certainly not as glamorous as his job at the temple, but it was a life, and that was enough. Besides, it had saved him once already – if he hadn't been tending the bar in here, he would likely be spitted on a spike up there, he thought.

Baltis and Syl sat around a barren fire in the bar room, in the same place where the patrons had sat earlier in the day, and waited for Galen to return. Syl stared into the embers, deep in thought. They lit up his red eyes eerily, making him look even more demonic than dark elf complexions usually do. He must have been thinking about the Argonians, for he looked up and asked: 'So, there were lizards in the market? What were they doing?'

'They looked like they were extorting money from a stall vendor. They were asking for their protection money.' Baltis said.

Syl frowned. 'They're getting braver. It doesn't help that the guards stopped their patrols down here. Now there's nothing keeping them away from us.' Just one glance at the three windows in the room showed just how true this was. Two panes were shattered, both by Argonian thugs just a few nights before.

'Yes,' Syl carried on, 'some lizards came around asking for Galen earlier, but,' he conjured a soft flame on one of his fingers which finished his sentence for him.

'Of all the places I could've gone, in all of Tamriel, I ended up here.' He was talking more to himself now. He looked out of the window at the city, where the sky was quickly darkening.

'At least it isn't in the Empire,' Baltis said.

'Very true, Baltis, at least it's got that.' He smiled, but its warmth was akin to the dying fire. 'How did you end up in the city of the damned, Indoril?' He asked.

'Banished.' He replied shortly.

'Ah. You were an Ordinator?' Syl assumed.

Baltis replied that he was correct.

'Ah.' Syl said again, and then nothing more was said about it. The word Ordinator had become something of a taboo amongst the Dunmer. The Ordinators had been the holy warriors of the Tribunal Temple until very recently, and the closest thing the Dunmer had to an army. For years they maintained Temple Law across Morrowind, and the Indoril, the holy house, had been their primary recruitment source – it was said that nine in every ten priests you met in Morrowind were Indorils, and six of them would have served as an Ordinator at some point. Of course, Baltis thought, the Ordinators weren't perfect. They were racist and hateful to outsiders, especially the beast races – they were very traditional like that. But, alongside the Buoyant Armigers, the holy warriors of house Redoran, they were the only standing army the dark elves had. They were the only line of defence between Morrowind's people and the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis a decade ago, and again against the Argonian invasion six years later, and Baltis had fought in both.

Of course, after these wars the Tribunal were abandoned in favour of the Daedra gods Azura, Mephala and Boethia, or the 'Blessed Reclamations'. The once almighty Tribunal were relegated to saints to ease the crossover, and worship of the saints was still tolerated. But the Ordinators were given no such treatment. They were immediately banished from Morrowind. Baltis still remembered the day that the Reclamations priest confronted his regiment on their way back from fighting a lizard-slave horde. Their lives had been put on the line to protect the Temple's capital and just an hour later they were branded outlaws and driven away. Not the medal he was promised at all, Baltis thought sardonically.

It was just after dark that Galen Dreth returned to the little den. So at least he hadn't been executed, Baltis thought. He watched Galen expectantly, hanging on his next words. He let them wait.

'So what happened?' Baltis asked, unable to bear it any longer.

Galen's face cracked open into a devilish grin. 'King Regulus Terentius needs a job doing,' He said. Behind him stood a tall man, shrouded in a dark hood and cloak, who carried with him a palpable sense of danger. 'And this is the man that will help us.'

The street ahead was deserted and empty. Baltis, now cloaked and hidden, flitted to the other side and hunched low to avoid detection, staying pressed to the walls, taking care not to be caught in the flickering glow of a street lantern. Apparently the king had paid so much that Galen had enlisted the services of a professional assassin to make sure the mission went smoothly. The profits would pay for the assassin's fee and bring them a tidy amount too.

The Imperial City. The heart of the lion. He could still hardly believe it.

Usually they had 24 hours to prepare before a mission, but it seemed the king was very urgent to have this man removed, so Baltis, Galen and the hooded man had set out from Bravil on a royal carriage. The hooded man – Tyrone, his name was – was quiet for most of the journey, only talking when Galen or Baltis prompted him, and then only in short sentences.

'So who is he, exactly?' Baltis asked Galen. They were both in the back of the carriage, while Tyrone and the driver sat in the front seat, about a foot lower than them.

'Tyrone. He came to me, believe it or not. He stopped me as I was leaving the castle,' Galen replied.

'How much did he ask for?' Baltis asked.

'A fair amount. But with the amount king Regulus is paying us, it's more than worth it to ensure the job goes smoothly.' He tapped his nose. 'We're making a tidy profit.'

Baltis smiled. 'I don't doubt it. So, who does the king want dead so desperately?'

'A Breton councillor, by the name of Pacal Dufont. He holds a position closely regarded by Potentate Ocato, apparently – and he's one of his closest advisers.'

Baltis smiled, connecting the links. 'And I imagine he's none too fond of dear Regulus?'

'Exactly. He's powerful, he's dangerous, and he hates the good king.' Galen said with a mournful smile.

'Which is why he must die.' Baltis finished.

'Right. And no doubt the king will be the first man people point the finger of blame at.' Galen said, then smiled slyly. 'Which is why I hired Tyrone to perform the murder. So we remain innocent.'

Baltis smiled but without conviction. 'When did we become petty criminals?' He said.

'Ha! I've always been a petty criminal. You know me. I'm a Hlaalu - we're all criminals.' He said sarcastically, making fun of the stereotype. It was common knowledge amongst the Dunmer that the Hlaalu house was untrustworthy and treacherous. When the Empire had taken over Morrowind the other great houses mostly stuck to their original traditions and in some cases – like House Dres and Telvanni – had even continued their slave trade in direct violation of Empire law. But House Hlaalu welcomed the Imperials, gave them land and the staging ground they needed to truly dominate the rebellious dark elf system, and in some cases took sides against the other houses. They gained a lot of power leeching off of the Empire, but when the Emperor ordered his legions back to the Imperial City, the crash was just as dramatic. Even during the Empire's reign the Hlaalus were seen as thieves and traitors, but following it, without the Emperor's protection the house was brutalised. Its representative on the council was banished, thrown down the steps by the officials of the vengeful houses. Their position as a Great House was taken away. Following that, Hlaalus were seen as the scum of Morrowind, and in many ways Galen fit the stereotypical Hlaalu perfectly – financially motivated and morally stunted. But Baltis liked him nonetheless because when he had needed a place to stay, Galen had been there. That had made the men close over the last few months, even though their backgrounds were as opposite as black and white.

'Unlike you.' Galen continued with a smile. 'But in their own way, the Indoril were hit just as hard as we Hlaalus, weren't you?'

'Not all of them. Just those that wouldn't accept the New Faith. Worshipping daedra!' He shook his head. 'Our brothers are going mad. Did you know they've even built a statue to Azura up in the mountains?'

Galen shrugged. 'Yeah, I heard about that. But I suppose, from the Empire's point of view, they've just replaced three old demons with three new ones.' He said. Being a thoroughly Imperialised Hlaalu he worshipped the Empire's gods, the Nine Divines, and had no time for the superstitions of the other Dunmer.

'The Daedra are simply demons - they act in their own interest and don't care for anything else. We're just sport to them.' Baltis told him. Everyone knew the power that the Daedra wielded, and he was only too afraid of what three of them could do if they worked together. 'Nothing good will come of it.'

They sat and watched the passing landscape for a long while. Eventually Galen leaned over and nudged his friend, who was falling asleep.

'We're nearly there.' And so they were. The soft orange light of the Imperial City was a blotchy inkstain in the night's blanket, and the White-Gold Tower stabbed up out of it into the night sky. The waters of Lake Rumare shimmered as the three men departed the cart. Galen paid the driver and beckoned them together. 'Right. Lets go over the plan one last time.' Galen whispered.

They had reached the city around midnight. Which meant they were now working on a tight schedule. At the gates, they wished each other look then dispersed into the wide streets. Baltis wasn't really expecting to run into any watchmen – it was late and they would have gone back to the barracks where it was warm – but it always paid to be careful. Stealth wasn't his strong suit. Sure, he'd picked it up as it was a necessity in his current position, but he wasn't trained for it. So he moved down the misty street cautiously, sticking to the shadows. The whole city was asleep except for a few houses whose windows still glowed with dim light as the candles inside burned the last of their wax. The plan was complex but he relished the change from his boring life in the club. He reached his target fairly quickly: a street dominated by a large manor house. The window at the very top was open and light from inside cast a fluttering glow. Just as expected. Overlooking the manor's grounds were two black iron lanterns and Baltis cautiously approached the one closest to him, peering around like a fox for any signs of the city watch. Reassured that he was alone, he opened the hatch and with one delicate blow he snuffed the flame. Almost instantly the other lantern further down was extinguished and he watched the figure responsible, which must've been Galen, disappear into the night. The only light in the street now came from the top window, which cast a delicate touch of light on the garden but not enough to risk detection. Everything was dark. A smile passed across his grey-blue lips.

The Dunmer now turned his focus to his next target, one of the two large towers on the street's corners, built to overlook the manor house. This one would be tricky. A direct approach would obviously be impossible. There was no other way to access the building from street-level other than through the main door.

But he had a well-rehearsed answer to this - an improvisation that Syl had prepared earlier at the last moment - just in case it was needed. He drew a faded scroll from his satchel that had been given to him earlier that evening.

'Take this. You might need a back-up.' Syl had said.

Baltis unfurled the scroll and gave the contents a quick double-check. Everything seemed to be correct, but written magic was always a risky business – especially when it was bought on the Bravilian black market like this one. Many would-be users had suffered at the fate of a forged scroll or sneakily watered down potion, and levitation magic was the worst because if anything was wrong, the spell could just fail. Baltis promised himself again that this would be the last time he used one of Syl's scrolls.

He muttered the invocation, taking great care to follow the practised accuracy his friend had taught him. Sure enough the weightless sensation lifted him off his feet. He tested it by bouncing on the air a little, about a foot from the ground. It seemed safe enough. He switched his attention to the tower. It was hard to make out any details through the dark, but he could faintly make out the shape of a window about fifty foot from the ground. It seemed doable. There was no light coming from inside. It wasn't a perfect entry point, he thought, but it was a lot better than the main door so he floated carefully towards it. A hint of fear gnawed at his gut as the houses shrunk beneath him, but he reached the window safely, and landed on the sill without a sound. He whispered thankfully to the night. But then something happened that made his heart leap into his mouth. A muffled voice came from inside. Cursing himself, he perched and pulled down his hood, pressing his ear to the cold glass.

'I don't like this Scipius. What if someone notices?'

'No-one's gonna notice. They're all asleep.' There was a momentary silence, broken by the clunk of feet in metal boots. 'Besides, no-one's going to try to kill the councillor. It's nearly midnight!'

'I'm not worried about that – the place is so locked down, not even a Bosmer woman could sneak in to see him, if he had one. But if the cap'n catches us off duty again, it'll be the gallows!'

'Octavian is snoozing in his fancy quarters, just like all the others. Listen Corvus. Relax, get some air. I'll go and crack us open some wine. Captain won't mind if a couple bottles go missing – he's got so much of the stuff he wouldn't even notice. You like the West Weald stuff, right?' Someone lit a candle. Baltis dodged to one side quickly so as not to be spotted. Surely they couldn't have seen him? But everything had gone quiet inside. After a few seconds Corvus said something to the other man, and his footsteps moved closer to the window.

Baltis waited for what must've been a hundred heartbeats. It was quiet for a long time, but eventually he heard a muffled word, followed a second later by a sound like feet on wooden stairs. Scipius must've gone to fetch the wine.

Then the window was thrown open and Corvus's helmeted head looked out.

Baltis froze. The watchman inhaled deeply and little droplets of sweat beaded on his face as he breathed in the night air. Baltis was sure he would hear his pounding heart. The guard was still for a long while, but then he pushed away from the window and disappeared back into the room. Baltis dared to breathe again. If the soldier's senses hadn't been dulled he would've seen him for sure. But now the elf was at an incredible advantage: his enemy was alone; the window was open. So he dropped silently into the room.

Corvus had sat uncomfortably at a table the other side of the room, trying to relax himself. He'd picked up a book from the side and was reading out loud to himself. He obviously was not a natural reader. Baltis's dagger glinted in the candlelight as he drew it silently from its sheath. He quickly grabbed the watchman from behind and clamped his hand over the man's mouth before he could shout out. His victim made a stifled scream that turned into a thick gurgling sound as Baltis drew the razor sharp blade across his throat. The body convulsed in sharp spasms but he held it still until it went limp. He let it slump in the chair. It definitely wasn't the work of an assassin; the kill had been strung out and brutal. He almost regretted not using Syl's acidic poison. The poor man had done nothing wrong! A part of his conscious screamed. Focus, he whispered. He snuffed the candle, then crouched in the corner and waited for the second Imperial.

'Corvus? If this don't relax you I don't know what will – Captain's personal supply, Vintage 433. This stuff's over ten years old!' But the watchman received no reply. His wits were slow from the strong wine. 'Corvus?' He sighed loudly, and stumbled up the stairs. 'Why'd you snuff the candle?' His eyes narrowed. 'Wait, what's going on?'

The blade stabbed up under his ribcage, into his heart. The elf's hand pushed the blade deeper, the soldier died with a quiet mewl and blood as scarlet as the Dunmer's matted hair soaked into the floor. As he looked down at the body he felt a tinge of remorse. It's for the best, he told himself.

The Dunmer emerged into the night air at the top of the tower disguised in the armour of an Imperial watchman. He hoped Galen and Tyrone had succeeded, too; the security in the Imperial City had been notoriously strict since the death of Martin Septim, the late Emperor, ten years ago. But then, Potentate Ocato was right to be careful. There were a lot of people in Cyrodiil that wanted him dead. After all, officially he was only a Regent; only there to rule passively until a new emperor was crowned. But now his part was done and all that was left was to wait for the others to catch up. He sat down on the sentry's stool and waited.

Tyrone stood outside Pacal Dufont's manor. Both iron lanterns had been put out, putting him under the protection of darkness. He waved his torch at the guards at the top of both towers; they both waved theirs back. So the agents had displaced the guards. He'd had his doubts at first about the rogue's abilities, but it seemed they'd proven themselves capable. The candle in the councillor's bedroom was still burning and the window was still slightly ajar. Perfect. The killer doused the torch and retrieved his grapple. With a swift, precise throw it latched onto the guttering of the house. He tugged it. It was secure.

It was hard to believe that the security around a Councillor's manor was so lapse, especially in a city so tightly locked up. Though these days, even the curfew wasn't enforced strictly. Tyrone climbed the wall with speed, and stopped at the councillor's bedroom window. Pacal was sitting at his desk with a quill and a pot of ink, writing a legal document judging by the Empire's seal on the bottom. The balding, middle-aged Breton looked tired.

'Working hard are we, Dufont?' Pacal dropped the quill and looked up, his eyes wide.

'Don't even think about calling for help. By the time they got in here you'd be dead and I'd be gone. Besides, I've got a proposition for you.' The murderous look in the assassin's eyes froze the Breton's blood. He swallowed and Tyrone moved closer.

'They're paying me a large lump of gold to kill you, Dufont. I have no reservations about doing that at all. But if you can pay me more, I'll let you live.'

Pacal finally found his words. 'How much were you thinking?'

Tyrone grinned. He leant over the councillor with his hand on the desk. 'Ten thousand Septims.'

'That's extortionate!'

'I don't think you're in a position to be bartering, Mr Dufont.' He dragged his sharp fingernails across the back of the Breton's hand. Pacal snapped it back.

'Okay! Okay. I'll pay up. Just leave me be.'

'I'm pleased to hear that. I'll be in the Arboretum, two days from now. You'd better be there with the money.' He went back to the window.

'Wait! Who hired you?'

The assassin smiled that chilling smile again. 'I'll let them know you've been dealt with. Don't worry, they won't suspect a thing. Just lay low after tonight. Because if my employer finds out you're still alive, I'll kill you for free.' He turned to leave. 'And I won't be quick.' He was gone from the room as quickly as he'd appeared. Pacal wiped his brow and abandoned the document; he couldn't work anymore tonight.

Baltis drank his Matze contentedly, surrounded by tables of cheerful dark elves. Of course, they'd only starting frequenting the club when they heard about the money Galen now had, but Galen didn't seem to mind that at all. 'Any business is good business,' he'd smirked with a girl on his arm.

''Ey, where's that wizard? I'm thirsty!' One of them asked while banging his tankard on the table. Syl came in, carrying some strange steaming liquid, and they cheered coarsely as he poured it in their cups.

'What's in that stuff anyway?' Galen asked him, dragging him aside, but Syl simply shrugged.

'Eh, just leftovers, mixed with the usual stuff. I added it to make the matze last longer,' He noticed Galen's worried look and added: 'Not enough to make it deadly, I don't think.' He glanced around at the drinkers with an expression that could almost have been appeal. 'They seem to like it,' he shrugged again. 'Why don't you try some?'

Galen laughed sardonically. 'Hah! Not a chance. I know what you used those ingredients for – I wouldn't be surprised if they were all dead by morning!' He laughed again, then they fell silent for a while, just watching how their work had come to fruitition. The fire in the room's middle was roaring now, and the smoke hung over the heads of the drinkers, no doubt mingling with the smoke of the herbs that the Dunmer liked to put in their pipes. Since the destruction of Vvardenfell, the island that held the volcano, the ashlanders that lived there had moved onto the mainland, bringing some of their traditions with them. They had happily settled into a nomadic life on the now ash-covered Kelshaan plains much like they had on the ashlands before. But trade with their urban brethren was becoming more common – and one of their products that had proved particularly popular were their black pipes and smoking herbs. The New Temple had actually adopted them for use in their Daedric ceremonies and rituals. They saw it as a representation of the fire and soot covering their holy island.

'So, What do we do? Now we have the money?' Syl asked.

Galen gazed at the bottom of his cup with a furrowed brow. 'You know, I haven't really thought about it,' He looked up and grinned. 'But I'm not leaving Bravil, that's certain – There's good business here. Besides, these poor sods need a place to go, and I'm more than happy to provide it for them.'

'Yes. Assuming they pay you, of course,' Syl smirked.

'Obviously.' Galen smiled back. 'And what about you?'

'I'll probably go back to Morrowind, now everything's died down. See the smouldering ruins of House Telvanni.' He scowled. 'I don't know.'

'You won't be staying here?' Galen asked.

'I doubt it. There's nothing here for me. This isn't exactly my preferred situation, you know,' he looked behind at the raucous crowd, now goading a man to down a whole tankard of Syl's steamy liquid in one. 'This isn't what a real alchemist spends his life's work doing.'

'Nonsense. You're going to be a sensation.' Galen said. The man was now demanding a second helping of the deadly mix.

Syl laughed harshly. 'Again, my friend, that isn't my preferred situation,'

'So, what is?'

'I was a Telvanni politician, and member of the Council. Gods damn, A head of the house!' Syl said.

'Ah, so you want your power back.' Galen said.

'Not power, exactly,' The drunkard shouted that he wanted a refill, right now, and he was going to gut the wizard if he didn't get one. Syl gestured at him. 'I just don't want that.' He sighed. 'I want dignity.' He gave the man a damning look, then went to tend to him.

'You're going to miss him, aren't you?' Baltis said, leaning on a post.

'What can I say? Of course I will. At the very least, I need to get the recipe for this stuff. It's made us the most popular dark elf bar in the city!' Galen said.

'We're probably the only dark elf bar in the city,' Baltis pointed out.

'Agh, so what - that just means there's no competition.' Galen said. Syl was coming back with a tray, looking very displeased.

'You should be paying me to do this, Galen.' He said.

'That's probably true,' He grudgingly admitted. 'Eh, alright. I was going to get some staff to help me anyway – I'll pay you tomorrow morning.' Syl had been about to say that if he thought he was going to work as a waitress he was wrong, but there was a knock on the door, and Galen turned around.

The door opened and a crowd of ragged-looking Imperials and Nords came in. Everyone went quiet. Stern dark elf eyes locked on the newcomers, but their leader, a Nord with a gruff bright beard and large nose, wasn't moved at all. Galen went to meet them and Baltis and Syl shadowed him. Baltis's hand was on his sword and he made sure they could see it so they knew the consequences of starting any trouble.

'Can I help you gentlemen?' Galen asked.

The man's eyes scanned over Baltis, and his sword, then over Galen. He smiled and so did the rest of his company.

'We've come to celebrate with you. Get us some of your dark elf stuff – what's it called? Shine?'

'Shein, my good man.' Galen said, grinning, and he looked at Syl, who sighed. Syl knew exactly who would be granting their request. He went back to the kitchen and Baltis followed him.

'Shouldn't Tyrone be back soon?' He said. Syl just grunted. 'It's odd that he's so late. Maybe Pacal had some guards up there after all.'

'He's a master assassin. Pacal is dead, whether he had guards or not – Tyrone could kill a whole regiment, silently, without a second thought.'

'Well then, where is he?' Baltis persisted.

'I dont know. He's probably spent the night in an inn or something.' Syl said, exasperated. He went into the pantry and emerged struggling with a large keg of Shein. 'Do me a favour and take this out there, will you?'

So Baltis brought the noisy men their alcohol, and later some of Syl's stuff, which he was still not at all tempted to drink. He knew the kinds of 'seasoning' the wizard usually worked with, and frankly, it wasn't worth the risk. As it passed midnight the elves began to filter away, and Galen made sure to bid every one farewell at the door as they left. The club was now about half empty, and there was a definite sense that the evening was coming to an end.

'Try some, Baltis. It's perfectly safe. I've tested it myself!' Galen said eagerly. It wasn't true, obviously, but he was curious to see what would happen. Baltis refused to touch it at first, but Galen convinced him it couldn't be that bad. After all, everyone else had had some and it seemed fine, so he held the bottle at his lips in a final moment of trepidation. Chants of encouragement egged him into it. He downed the whole bottle in one and wiped his mouth with a grunt. Galen chuckled and slapped him on the back, congratulating him, and even Syl smiled. But then he felt something stir in his gut and the stuff came straight back up out of him. They all just laughed louder. Baltis had suddenly lost his appetite for partying, so he stepped out into the night for some air.

'What have you been doing with yourself?' An amused female voice said.

Baltis smiled as Claire stepped into the light of the club's windows, arms folded.

'Claire! What are you doing here?'

'I came to find out what a dark elf hero does in his free time. You know, when he isn't saving merchant's daughters,' She mock scowled. 'I can't say I'm very impressed.'

He realised that he probably reeked of sick and tried to explain himself, but he couldn't find the words. 'How did you find me?' He settled on instead.

'It wasn't that hard, really. There aren't many places that your people go to.' She smiled slyly. 'So, what have you been up to?' He couldn't answer her question accurately. She was a high lady and wouldn't be impressed if she knew that just recently he had been involved in a plot to kill the councillor. Instead, he just muttered about small things, decorating the club, working the bar. She asked what he did other than these and he panicked.

'I'm a mercenary.' He blurted stupidly.

'Really? You know, I almost guessed, judging how well you handled those Argonians.' She grinned at him.

'It's a very lucrative trade, but you've got to be a good fighter,' He explained.

'I can imagine. I bet you have so many adventures.' Baltis panicked. She was going to ask him to tell her about his adventures! But instead she just looked away.

'What's wrong?' He asked.

'Bravil is so boring. You're lucky.' She said. 'I've never been outside the city.'

'But you're safe here – it's dangerous doing what we do. You're risking your life every time, all for a day's pay. It's not the life I'd have chosen, believe me.'

'What life would you have chosen?' She asked. She gestured for him to walk with her, and it struck him that she'd braved the streets of Bravil at night to see him. Well, that must have been a world first – a Breton going out of her way to talk to a Dunmer thief.

'In an ideal world? I'd still be in Morrowind, living my normal life.' He said.

'And what constitutes normal for you?' She asked with another sly grin.

'I don't like talking about it.'

'Ooh, and mysterious too! You're quite a catch.' Her fingers grazed his. His mind reeled for a second. Had that been deliberate? 'You know, alongside the drinking, and stuttering, and thuggish behaviour.' It couldn't have been.

They walked for hours and thankfully she never asked him for an adventurous story, although there were no more delicate hand-brushes, so he dismissed the first as an accident. Even so, he was strangely drawn to her. Her face was luminous in the moonlight. As they wandered into the upper-class district, he decided he'd rather walk her all the way back home rather than let her go alone again. Even if it was in the posh area. After all, she had walked all the way down to meet him in the first place.

'Thankyou for walking me again. You're quite chivalrous for a dunmer, you know. You'll see me again soon.'

And somehow, as he followed the route back through the city for the second time, he didn't doubt her.

He quietly closed the door behind him and assessed the damage. Mugs and flasks lay everywhere, strewn recklessly as if there'd been a fight or one hell of a party, and there was a dark stain on the tapestry that looked impossible to get out. The main fire was dead and the whole building was so dark that everything looked a slight shade of blue. So, it must be very late, he mused to himself. Galen will have a massive of a task on his hands cleaning this up. He crept through the kitchen that stank of Syl's potions tonight more than ever, then down the hall at the back that no patron was allowed into, and collapsed into his bed. He fell asleep with her in his thoughts. But they quickly turned sour, because that night he had a bad dream.

As he dropped into sleep he found he was falling into endless black, surrounded by stars. They flashed by in streaks of purple and black and deep blue, and looking down there didn't seem to be an end. He screamed. They whizzed past quickly for a long time.

But then he landed and the streaks faded, though there was still no floor beneath him. Then he realised that what he was wearing was exceptionally heavy. Almost like the armour he used to wear. In fact exactly like it.

'Ordinator. It seems the weaves of fate have brought us together,' A voice said curiously. 'They sure like to have their fun, don't they?'

Baltis squinted into the black void but the voice seemed to be coming from nowhere.

'Don't call me that.' He said.

'Ordinator? That is your title, isn't it?' The voice asked. It was distinctly female.

'Not anymore.' He said.

'Because you were banished.' The voice finished.

Baltis closed his eyes sadly in spite of himself. 'Yes.' He admitted.

'Used, and thrown away.' The voice went on.

'What are you getting at?' He demanded.

The voice laughed softly. 'Patience, dear. First you must promise me something. I need your word before we go on.'

Baltis narrowed his eyes. 'Who are you?'

'All I will tell you is that you know me.' She said gently.

Baltis took a step forward, though he didn't know if it was in her direction or not. 'At least answer one of my questions.'

'I might, depending on what you ask.' She replied.

'Okay. Where are you?' He asked. A blinding light appeared in front of him, so bright he had to cover his eyes. It danced with a kind of shimmering energy he had never seen before.

'Now will you listen to me?' She asked. He could hear her smile in the way she spoke.

Baltis conceded. 'Fine, Fine.' He said. 'Go on.'

'I warn you; this may strain your mind. But I promise you that you will be unscathed... As long as you stay close.' The voice said. And before he could object he was falling again.

[ Gets spoken to by Azura. A bit of teasing about the tribunal. She shows him the images of evil Ocato and Vivec. She takes him to the others; they tell him to find an artefact, that it will make Morrowind strong and he will be forgiven. At the end they reveal that they are daedra. Baltis refuses to believe it and goes to visit someone to determine the meaning of the dream.]

Baltis and Syl crouched behind a garden wall, watching over the secluded garden that Tyrone had chosen as the site of the transaction. As arranged, Pacal waited by a pillar near the centre. The Breton was overdressed in Baltis's opinion. His coat was made from a thick dark blue cotton, and frilled with expensive fur. Beneath, he wore a golden button-up silk jacket, which went over a flamboyant white shirt. If anything he must've been too hot in that garb. But he guessed that the sweating wasn't from the heat. Pacal glanced back at them worriedly and Syl waved his hand frantically, worried he'd expose them, then cursed.

'He's an imbecile,' He sighed. 'We shouldn't be helping him.'

'Eh. We work on commission and he bought us.'

Syl's lips curled. 'I preferred it the other way when we were killing him.'

'That way was more ludicrous,' Baltis agreed. He watched the entrance to the garden, thinking. 'I wonder why the king paid so much?'

'Probably noble trouble. It's best to not to get involved in that. It's a nasty business. Especially was when it was played by Telvanni wizards.' Syl went quiet again, obviously remembering. Then his fiery eyes locked on someone new entering the garden. 'Here he is.'

Tyrone's figure was as pitch black as the night around him and his large cloak billowed as he stalked past the Dark Elves' position towards Pacal. Pacal visibly faltered at the sight of him. The cold sweat dripped and seeped into his coat.

'Have you got the coin, Dufont?' Tyrone snarled. His face was hidden beneath his hood, but his mouth was visible and teeth showed with every word.

'Yes, it's right here. It's a lot of gold to be carrying about – It's very heavy.'

'Shut up and give it to me.' Pacal flustered and handed the murderer the bag. He offered a forced smile.

'Cowardly Breton, you're all the same.' He took the bag, then swung and struck Pacal with the back of his hand forcefully. The Breton whimpered and begged for mercy. Tyrone whispered that he was pathetic and pushed him over violently.

Pacal crawled to his knees. 'What are you going to do about your employer?' He dared to ask.

Tyrone feigned ignorance. 'I dont know what you mean, Dufont,' he said.

Pacal's face cracked. 'No! Please. You said you would help me!'

'I said nothing of the sort. If you lay low, you'll live. Or you'll die, it makes no odds to me.' He walked away, leaving Pacal despairing on his knees in the middle of the garden.

But his path was blocked by the two dark elves, who now stood ready to fight, one with his warblade and the other with a ball of flame that illuminated a dark smile. Syl snapped his fingers and the fire flared angrily. Tyrone was taken off guard, but only for an instant.


End file.
